


Fais-Do-Do

by micehell



Category: Nightwatch (1997)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Restraints, pool table kink ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-24
Updated: 2006-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never been able to resist James' plans, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fais-Do-Do

There was something familiar about them, but Martin couldn't place it. One was small and white, the other big and dark, and they crowded up close against him like ill-matched bookends. Martin was already starting to babble conciliatory things, not knowing what he'd done to gain their attention, but desperate to apologize for it before it got him a black eye or worse.

The last couple of weeks had been hard for him, and he'd come to the club to drown it out, wanting to be alone in his misery, but not able to face being alone. Like most of his plans, though, this one wasn't going the way Martin had wanted it to.

The two men looked at him, anger on their faces. The smaller one backed him further against the bar, getting in his face aggressively. "Where's your friend, the talk show promoter?"

That made it click, and Martin began to be truly afraid. These two had already been trouble waiting to happen before he'd made the mistake of challenging James to handle them. After the comments that had been made about them and their ancestry, Martin knew he wasn't getting away from this with just talk.

He smiled, going for disarming, but probably just looking as scared as he felt. "He's not with me tonight, gentlemen, but I'd be happy to tell you where to go."

Neanderthals or not, the innuendo of the comment registered on their faces, their muscles seeming to swell with their irritation, and Martin wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. As hard as he could, he smashed his beer bottle against the smaller one's shoulder, hoping to knock him back and out of the way, but he just yelled, not moving, and not giving Martin any room to escape his friend's fist.

The pain that washed through Martin's head washed out all thoughts of how bad his life had been lately, and the darkness that followed washed away the pain.

::::::::::

His head hurt. That was the first thing that came to him. His head hurt. It was irritating, but it wasn't enough to pull him from the comforting dark sea he rode.

It wasn't until he realized that his jaw ached, too, his mouth dry and full of something that he tried to spit out, but couldn't, that he truly started to be aware. Cloth, he thought muzzily. His mouth was full of cloth, though he couldn't think why. He tried to push it out with his tongue, but there was too much of it, trapping his tongue beneath it, giving it no room to maneuver.

Choking with his efforts to clear his mouth, his eyes flew open to find dim light, a room lit only with the neon from the beer ads on the walls and the jukebox in the corner. There was no one around, but he recognized the place even without its usual crowd, recognized it even in the dim light. The Fais Do-Do. Whatever else had happened, he was still at the club. Still at the club, and gagged.

Naked, too.

That realization hit him right around the same time he discovered that he was tied spread-eagle to the eight foot pool table that was the star attraction of the bar. His wrists were pulled tightly towards the corner pockets, the rope disappearing into the netting, anchored to something below. He tugged hard, but there was no give to the rope, and he couldn't budge them.

He could feel that his ankles were tied, too, but it wasn't as tight, giving him room to maneuver his feet. The small freedom did him no good, as those ropes weren't coming off either, and all he was doing with his struggles was hurting himself.

His breath was coming fast, fear and anger hitting him in equal measures. The adrenaline spiking through him made him feel like he could take out both of the guys that had attacked him, regardless of their size. It made him feel like he could break the rope holding him down, but chemically charged or not, he was still just Martin, and the rope held firm against his feelings.

Time passed, and no one came. He was both thankful for the reprieve and almost impatient for whatever was going to happen to just be over with. The position he was in didn't leave much room for doubt about what was planned, and he could only wonder at the delay. His fight-or-flight instinct had waned, the adrenaline breaking down in his blood leaving him shaking, and thinking about what was going to happen was only adding to the shakes.

He passed the time by thinking about what had happened. He wondered how those guys had managed to pull this off. Why had no one helped him when they'd hit him and then… whatever they'd done then? Had they hidden him until the bar had closed? But surely the staff would have found him when they made there usual troll for anyone too drunk to leave. Had they broken back into the bar after it had closed? That was just stupid, and made no sense whatsoever. If they planned to rape him, surely they'd prefer either privacy or someplace expedient. The elaborate quality of the position he found himself in seemed totally wrong for two bar crawlers looking for revenge.

Thinking about it just made the pain in his head worse, and Martin almost wished he could just pass out again. Wished that he wouldn't have to be aware of what happened, and that he wouldn't have to wait for it any longer. He kept pulling at his bonds instead, the rope burning at his wrists and ankles as he was driven by the little niggle of hope that said maybe this time they would give.

He was tugging hard with his feet when he heard a footstep from the back of the bar. He turned his head, trying to see, but the angle was wrong, and the room was too dim for him to get a clear view. It was only one person, though, and not particularly big; Martin felt that niggle of hope surge upward, thinking that he might have a chance if he could just get free. He tugged harder, desperate now that he wasn't alone, but his efforts produced nothing but laughter from the other person in the room.

"You're not going to get free. I used all those things I learned in Boy Scouts to make sure of that. Got my Kinky Bondage badge first time I tried for it, so you're not going anywhere unless I let you."

Martin's mouth would have dropped open if it weren't for the gag in it. The voice wasn't from either of the two who'd attacked him; it was a voice far more familiar than theirs.

He shook his head, a garbled question coming from the back of his throat. James seemed to understand it, though. He'd always seemed to understood Martin intuitively.

"They were just doing me a little… favor. For money, of course. The same way the guy who owns this place is doing me a favor. A favor I wouldn't have had to buy if you hadn't been avoiding me."

Martin squeezed his eyes closed, knowing that that part was true. He had been avoiding James, avoiding the bandage on his hand that he'd gotten trying to save Martin's stupid ass. Avoided hearing James say anything about Katherine's leaving, and avoided seeing that _told you so_ look he'd get in his eyes, since he'd always said that the relationship would never work.

He hadn't known what to say to James, the guilt and love and pain just sending his thoughts into chaos. He still didn't know what to say, but then James had taken that option away from him. Remembering that, combined with the ache from his lingering headache, made Martin shout, hoping James would understand some of the choicer words that were being swallowed by the gag.

"I'm sorry. I didn't tell them to hit you, you know. They kind of improvised that. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

Martin opened his eyes back up, taking in the intense expression on James' face, those compelling eyes telling him more than his words ever did. James had always been a little reckless, but, while he was certainly willing to embarrass the hell out of Martin, he'd never really hurt him. Or only in good ways, at any rate.

"Mgbhm, " was all Martin could say.

"I know you're hurting, Martin, and I don't mean from the punch. I know that Katherine's leaving on top of everything else didn't help anything, but I'm still here. Just like I've always been here."

Martin nodded to that. James had always been there for him, even at risk to himself. He couldn't even imagine James saying something like _emotional distance_ to him in a conversation that didn't involve a lot of beer and a fair amount of laughter.

"But you've been stuck inside your head too much, and you need to get free of it. This," and James held up his hand, the one with the bandages still around it, "this isn't your fault. This isn't the end of my life, and it meant that yours got to continue. I don't regret a damn thing about that night, except for the fact that I didn't get there faster."

That hurt, James thinking he'd screwed up, when it had been Martin all the way. That he'd suspected his own friend in the first place was eating away at him, but that James had been hurt saving him was more than he could take.

That same hand, the bandages a strange caress, came to rest on Martins face, cupping his cheek. "Stop it. Stop feeling guilty. I don’t want that from you."

Martin shook his head, almost violently, not knowing how to stop.

James tilted his head to the side, watching him curiously. He had the gleam in his eyes that usually spelled trouble, and Martin had a moment to remember he was naked, tied and gagged, and totally at his mercy before a sly smile touched James' lips. "You won't stop feeling guilty then? You won't let us go back to being James and Martin, the way things used to be, before Katherine, before that asshole Cray?"

Martin just watched him, knowing that James already had something planned, and no amount of almost-talking on Martin's part was going to change anything. He'd never been able to resist James' plans, anyway.

The hand on his face moved down, coming to rest on his chest, right next to a nipple, hard from the cold air. It tightened further at the proximity, James and a hint of fear being a potent combination. He squirmed a little, and wasn't even sure if he was trying to move away from the hand or closer to it.

James looked at him, weighing something, then brushed the gauze from the bandage lightly over the nipple.

Martin couldn’t hold back the moan at that, the sensation alien, and yet James' touch was still familiar. He arched up into it, increasing the pressure, getting closer almost against his will.

"It's been so long since we played any really good games. Katherine was never the type to share, and you spent far too much time trying to be what she wanted."

She'd always disapproved of James, not really liking him, which Martin could understand, considering James had always hated her and never done much to hide it. Martin had always known that there was some level of jealousy in how they looked at each other, but he hadn't been willing to give up his friend, even for the woman he'd thought he'd loved.

The touch on his nipple moved away, trailing down his stomach, coming to rest right below his navel, making the muscles there twitch at the contact. Martin held perfectly still, waiting to see what happened next.

"You remember that time I took you horseback riding and tried to fuck you while we were riding?"

Martin remembered how good it had felt, how James had matched his rhythm to the stride of the horse, making each thrust so powerful, seeming to jar through his entire body. He also remembered how they fallen, and the broken leg he'd gotten from where the startled horse had stepped on him. Still, the sex had been good up until that point.

James had stepped back from the table now, his eyes holding onto Martin as he began to strip. He put a little bit of exaggerated movement into it, making it a show, but he hadn't been wearing much to begin with, and he was soon back at the table, all of his glory pointing straight up at Martin.

"I've always loved playing pool."

He clambered up on the table, his hand not affecting his dexterity in this, at least. He knelt between Martin's outstretched legs, rubbing both hands along his legs, sliding them up to trace across Martin's cock, already hard in anticipation. He tried to thrust up into that touch, Martin's body having already decided to play the game that his mind was still somewhat angry about.

"First you have to rack your balls." The good hand reached down to cup his balls, tugging at them a little, one finger rubbing at the seam along his body, making Martin arch up, wanting more.

"You have to take your time, really prepare for your shot, 'cause rushing will make you sloppy, and then you'll be sure to lose the game." James sucked on his fingers, slicking them up, then pushed two of them into Martin's ass, the feel of it making them both moan a little. He worked them in and out, slicking them again and adding a third one when Martin began pushing back against them.

His mind still wasn't sure he was happy about this, happy about the way that James had set up this scenario without asking him first, but he really had never been good at resisting the other man, and his body loved the way James always made him feel. Even the pain that came from too little lubrication after almost a year without this type of sex wasn't enough to make Martin's erection subside, memory fueling his arousal. Thinking back on all the good times he and James had shared, he had to wonder what he'd been looking for with Katherine in the first place. Probably doing what was expected of him, something he'd certainly never be bothered with if he got back together with James.

The fingers broke off what they were doing, the hands moving to Martin's hips, pulling his ass up onto James' lap. "You need to line up your shot carefully. You break hard, but not too hard, 'cause that just leaves a mess."

The tip of the cock was just barely pushing in, teasing at the entrance, a tiny burn that promised so much more. Martin tried to push onto it, but James held him still, his grip painfully tight on Martin's hips.

"No, you want to control the force of it, so that the balls sink deep, and the lay afterwards is so much better."

He was bent over Martin, his face red and tight with the restraint he was showing. Martin knew the instinct that made you want to just slam in, to rut without any thought but your own pleasure, knew that James was often ruled by it, but he was holding back now, staring down at Martin with an almost helpless look on his face. Regardless of what he'd said to Martin, there were regrets in that look, fear. Martin fisted his hands, wishing he could touch, wishing he could drive the fear out of both of them.

James let go of his hips for a moment, reaching a tentative hand out to trace along Martin's face again. "You can still… if you don't want…"

But Martin shook his head, straining up against him, pushing the cock further into him, the burn fully realized now, and James grimaced, his control gone, his hips rushing forward, too fast, too hard. Too much, and Martin exhaled loudly from his nose, his chest heaving as he struggled to get air again.

James didn't stop thrusting, didn't look like he _could_ stop, but he pulled the gag out, letting Martin draw in noisy gaps of air, letting his moans echo in the room.

"God, you're so fucking tight. So fucking tight." He had hold of Martin's hips again, his fingers digging in hard, holding them tight against his thrusts, making everything that more intense.

It hurt, and Martin could have told him to stop, but he didn't want him to. The pain was good, the pain of being well-fucked by someone who wasn't worried about being gentle, who knew what Martin liked and wasn't afraid of giving it to him. It had been too long, and he could only grip his legs tightly around James' waist, holding him close as he arched his back to take him further in, loving the feel of James, thick and hard and deep inside of him.

Martin's cock was leaking pre-come, like a little stream of drool at the pleasure of being fucked, and it was dribbling down his stomach, cooling slightly even against the heat of aroused flesh. It tickled, a slight distraction, but it disappeared in a rush of pleasure as James rubbed his bandaged hand through it, then ran the wet gauze along Martin's cock, keeping his grip light so that he didn't do damage, but closing his hands enough that the cloth burned across sensitive flesh.

Martin was free to speak now, free to say anything he wanted, but the only sounds he could produce were tiny whimpers, his world reduced to the sensation of the cock in him, the sensation against his cock, and he bucked hard against both, his legs squeezing tight around James as he came with a shout that should have brought he ceiling down around them.

James managed to hold on for a couple of more thrusts, his hips working hard against the muscles clamped down around his waist, around his cock, silent as he came, his face tight with the pleasure of it.

They were both still for a minute, their only movement the rapid swells of chests desperate for air. Then James moaned, pulling out of Martin and collapsing beside him on the hard table, one leg lying over Martin's and an arm snugged against his waist.

"Did it work?"

"Did what work?" Martin's voice broke with his need for water, and with the feelings that were still crashing around inside him.

"Did you forget about things for a while?"

Martin hadn't, not really. He'd thought of Katherine for a moment, even while having sex with James, but it hadn't mattered. He'd known who he was with, and why he was with him, and it had been good. Katherine had been part of his life, part of him, and he couldn't cut it away, any more than he could cut out the memories of Cray, and the guilt he felt over what he'd done to James. Time would dull it, and that was the best anyone could ever hope for.

Honesty wasn't always the best policy though, especially not with the memory of the fear in James' eyes still close, so Martin hummed in his pleasure at what happened. "Forget what?"

James snorted, resting his chin on Martin's chest to look up at him. "I missed this."

"Me, too." And Martin had missed it, being just as stupid about love as he apparently was about serial killers. It appeared that he wasn't too stupid to learn, though, because his mind had finally caught up with his body in accepting James back into him.

Still. "Do you think you could untie me now? I'm starting to get a bit of a cramp here."

There was that look in those eyes again, and Martin sighed, knowing the evening wasn't over yet. He couldn't honestly say that he minded.

Later, exhausted and sore, and he knew he'd be sitting gingerly for days, he tried again. "James, the ropes…"

James just burrowed closer, the hair on his shaking head ticking across a still-sensitized nipple. "Just go to sleep."

Martin wanted to complain about the ropes, about the hard table beneath him, and the heavy man on top of him, and about the embarrassment should they be found like this, but he was too used to following James' lead to stop now, sinking into dreams of balls and cues, and breaking around the rock that was James.

/story


End file.
